Goodbye to Celeste

I awakened to discover one of the chickens had been lying dead right by the door of the hen house. She was the last of the surviving Wellsummers from our original flock. We called her, Celeste. Unless we want to "cut her open," like I've just read online, or send her off for a necropsy, we won't learn the cause of death. I think she may have simply lived her life and died. Apparently, chickens can live anywhere from 11 years at the oldest to 1 or 2 years at the youngest - at least when there is no evidence of foul play.

I read this morning that some people don't name their hens because they live such short lives. I've discovered that to be true enough in practice. We haven't owned this first flock for 3 years yet, and there is only one remaining hen from that original flock. Maybe it's why I'm less attached to them as pets. For instance, we call our newer hens by their breed names more often than "pet" names. Although, I must admit I am feeling more inclined to use their names on this sad morning. 

There's another thing I learned today. People who have larger flocks perform the task of "culling." These are folks who have larger flocks, and basically want to weed out the poorer egg layers. They have criteria for discovering what the lousy layers have in common, in terms of physical characteristics. Who knew? I guess our idea to serve the older, larger birds for dinner could be considered a form of culling, but now that aspect of our backyard chicken adventure is coming nearer to fantasy than reality.

The truth is Celeste was the most onry hen we owned. She was the queen of the hens. She was the top hen in the pecking order in our flock. Today the others are looking around wondering what to do. They look a little confused, and they are acting quite subdued. Maybe they are thinking, "When do I take my turn to eat?" 

I will observe which hen takes the place of queen in the flock, and I will report back. But I have a feeling I already know it will be the Buff Orpington. Her name is, Buffy, the coyote slayer.  Interestingly, she was too shy to pose for a picture, but the Rhode Island Red, the one we call, Rhoda, was proud to step up to the camera.

One of my Best Days

Sometimes being a good mom involves something that seems trivial but is super important to your child. Take, for instance, the phone call I recently received from one of my offspring. It was a call that sounded urgent, but after conversing for a few moments turned into the question...

Mom, exactly what time of day was I born on my birthday?

I spewed out the wrong time like lightning, as if I had memorized it yesterday.  But more and more these days my memory serves me incorrectly, and just to be certain, I double checked my statement as our conversation progressed. Fortunately, I knew exactly where to look for the answer. When I got to the place where I had the information carefully tucked it away, I learned, once again, that my memory had failed me.

No worries. This was my child, one of the greatest loves of my life, and forgiveness came from within the knowledge that I had now verified the the actual time of birth correctly. 

"You were born at 2:10 PM," I stated with authority. It's interesting that I had thought it was actually early in the morning, but now as I think back, I remember that I was in labor for a very long time. I can recall going through three nurses shifts during what was my first delivery experience. After discovering the correct time, I can remember the experience a little better. It was, after all, one of the best days of my life.

Nurse Roxie

I had a bout with some sort of virus that included a sore throat lasting over a week. That's a tough order for someone in a profession that requires a lot of talking.  After working the whole week, I finally broke down and took last Friday off for rest and recuperation. It felt wonderful, even though I felt less than 50%, to lounge around in my jammies and sip tea with honey. 

It is during these times, when I am visually at my worst and physically weakened, that I truly appreciate the companionship of my doggies, Roxie and Bentley. Both of these dogs are in no way as super cool as my Hardy was, but they both deserve honorable mention for lying around in bed with me, keeping me company as I dealt with the blahs. The best moment happened when I was awakened by my scratchy throat rattle as I unsucessfully tried to sleep in, finally deciding to get up at around 6 a.m.  I placed both feet on the floor, and felt the warmth of where my Roxie had slept all night next to the bed. 

Once my feet were on the floor, she quietly moved toward the door to get out of my way. I got up and ungracefully stumbled out the bedroom door with a moan. Being careful to stay out of my way, she walked politely by my side, and we worked our way down the stairs and into the kitchen. I'm not sure which behavior comforted me more: the warmth of her body next to my bed (that told me she was there by my side for most of the night), or how she carefully walked with me as I went downstairs. In any case, it reminded me how much I value the loyalty and companionship of a dog. I hope every animal lover gets a chance to feel it too someday.

Beginner Dog Obedience Graduates

Roxie and Bentley completed their beginner dog obedience class this morning. They are fairly obedient - that is, when no other dogs are in the shopping rows of the pet store. They both can sit, down, stay, come, shake, and spin. I think it's me who is doing the spinning though. In any case, here are their blurry photos. Maybe because the lines for the doggie graduates is blurry?